


One Flew Over the Demacian's Jail

by GhostFactory



Category: League of Legends
Genre: F/M, Headcanon, Post-Rework League of Legends Lore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-11-06 19:29:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17945741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostFactory/pseuds/GhostFactory
Summary: The premise of the story is this:What if instead of meeting Luxanna, Sylas instead met a kind guard working as his jailer?What if said girl didn't know that she had any magic at all?What would happen if Sylas showed that girl her true potential?The story is designed to be a slow-burn romance and drama, with occasional moments of adult/mature content in the projected future (+18).Please support me if you enjoyed my work! I will continue with this style of writing in the future if this style of fic appeals to people c:





	1. Rough Start

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome to my very first Fan Fiction! 
> 
> This is a reader insert fic, so it is designed to be fun and self-indulgent (though I'm working really hard)! Any time you see a [___/___], it will be for one of your qualities for the story. So for example, if you see [e/c], that would stand for your [eye/color]. This is done to keep you immersed in the story and be what you want for the most part! 
> 
> The only hard details to your character are that you:  
> *Are in your mid-twenties   
> *Previously had been working as a loss prevention guard at a local Demacian history museum. 
> 
> If you have any questions about what Sylas looks like or questions about his official lore, head over to Riot's Champion page here: https://universe.leagueoflegends.com/en_US/story/champion/sylas/ .

The guard marched forward with nothing but hate in his eyes.

It was only minutes into your first day as the new night watch jailer, and things were already starting to look more difficult than you had expected. Walking forward nervously, you gripped your silver spear in a white-knuckled grasp. The man marching towards you looked beyond irritated. Between the two of you lay only a long, white hallway that led to a single door with a small, slitted window at the end. The day-shift guard was rapidly closing in, and before you knew it, he stood towering above you. 

"Where the fuck have you been Private?" the man growled lowly. 

Sweat rolled down your back and into your hand-me-down chainmail. You were definitely late to your first day, and he was definitely pissed about it. 

"Ah," you started, putting both your hands up in a sort of apologetic surrender, ", forgive me, Captain Fawkes. I got held up in the directory trying to find the correct stairwell."

Captain Fawkes eyeballed you for a moment, his brown eyes narrowing and his nose scrunching in annoyance. This had to stop before it escalated somewhere serious. Before you could continue digging yourself deeper with your cover story, the looming Demacian cornered you. 

"Tomorrow...I better see your tight ass standing awake and alert at your post, exactly at the time you are supposed to be there...", the Captain lunged forward and roughly grabbed you by the collar before finishing his threat, "...or else I'm gonna have to train you just like I did good ole' Sylas." 

He jerked his free thumb towards the door at the end of the hallway, however, his eyes remained focused on your face. His breath smelled of cigar smoke and garlic, and his mustache twitched in anger occasionally as he waited for your confirmation. 

"Yes! Y-yes sir! I'll be here exactly on time for now on! Forgive me for wasting your time off!" you apologized rapidly; his knuckles were beginning to dig into your windpipe to an uncomfortable degree.

The moment you finished your pleading, Captain Fawkes dropped you to the ground as a vaguely predatory look spread across his weathered face. 

"Thata' girl. Now get the fuck up. There's a couple of rules up here." As if nothing had just happened at all, the Captain lumbered back down the hallway ahead of you. 

A shiver of fear ran through your body before you continued after him; you had known this new position would be tough, but you had no idea it would entail being put up in a maximum security area with a lunatic co-worker. Prison-guarding was quickly turning out to be nothing like loss prevention at the local history museum, and you could only hope like hell that you didn't make another mistake like that today. 

As the pair of you neared the marble door, your superior stopped short before turning back towards you.

"Alright, listen here Private," he gripped you roughly by the chin before letting go and continuing, "this is the third level of ISO here in the prison. The only step after this is the sensory deprivation room, and then after that, it's either the gallows or the guillotine. Sylas here has shown to be consistently unable to be around other cellmates without inciting prison riots or getting into fist-fights, so this isolation cell is where he stays. So far, with the help of my behavior management regimens, Sylas has been pretty easy to handle at night. It's honestly so easy, even a citizen could do it. " 

You swallowed anxiously. Where had you heard this man's name before? 

"He shouldn't give you any trouble, but here are the rules up here anyway:

"Rule number one: the prisoner isn't to be speaking unless he is spoken to, or is being given a direct order. He's got this penchant for running his mouth sometimes, so you might need to remind him of his rights once in a while." he gestured to your spear, nodding in approval of your weapon of choice.

"Rule number two: Sylas is restrained by both massive cuffs and chains that are stuck to a large chunk of petricite ore on the ceiling. He can lift his arms if he's feeling decent, so any time you enter the cell, you pull the lever by the door. It will retract his restraints so that he is immobile and cannot lift his arms to hurt you. Once you pull that lever, he's absolutely harmless-- those chains pull em' nice and tight so he can't touch you. I've heard him moving around at night before, so if you don't pull that lever when you go in, it's your own funeral."

You felt sick. Intrusive thoughts of strong, chained hands grabbing you from the darkness and strangling you filled your mind as the guard continued. 

"Third and final rule, Private. Be aware that he is currently on a regimen for the bullshit he pulled with me last week. Today is day five of no water, and regardless of how much he might beg and cry, you are not to give him anything. That man is an extremely dangerous criminal who murdered his superiors and a small child in cold blood; you are not to go against my decisions at any point. Understood?"

The man observed your expression like a hawk might a field mouse. You nodded almost instantaneously, confirming with a final "Yes Captain Fawkes". 

The strange expression returned to the man's face, and as the red shade of sunset cast over his visage, you were reminded of something both otherworldly and unkind. 

"Great. Sounds like you'll fit right in around here. I'll return at dawn. Keep him in line." 

With a creepy wink, the man left down the marble hallway; the only sound in the room being your shaky breaths and the heavy, furthering boot steps. 

What a nightmarish way to start your very first shift. 

What a nightmarish man to have as a superior! 

As soon as Fawkes was out of the hall, you dropped to your knees. You couldn't control the way your body was shaking, so all you could think to do was sit down. How had you gone from spending lazy, gentle days at the museum to guarding a dangerous criminal, alone and obviously under-trained? 

What was seriously wrong with your Captain? 

Just how many days were they planning to deprive a human being of water? With that thought, you began to cry. Tears ran down your cheeks as you laid your head into your knees, pulling the long handle of your spear close to your chest. 

Everything was so wrong here. To make matters worse, your daily migraine was beginning to set in. All you could do was let yourself quietly sob until you felt safe again.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
After allowing yourself to cry for a bit, you lifted your head from your lap. The sconces along the walls now lit the small area you sat in and the door before you. 

How long had you been crying there? Embarrassed, you wondered if the man had heard anything that had transpired. Standing back up, you rubbed your glassy eyes for a moment then approached your post.

You noticed that the cell was dark at night and that you couldn't see inside of it at all. Nervously, you gazed into the darkness through the door's window, unsure of what the man in question looked like. Holding your trusty spear, you took your position in front of the door.

It was eating at your nerves knowing that the man could see you, but not the other way around. You fidgeted and shivered, unsure of what to do or say. It took a lot of effort, but you managed to eventually force eyes away from the cell door and into the correct guarding posture. The long marble hallway remained empty and dark ahead of you. 

 

After about an hour had passed, you relaxed into your heels. Sylas hadn't made a sound, just like Fawkes had promised. 

You winced as you imagined how dry five days without water would make someone's throat, and suddenly his silence made too much sense. You hated yourself for realizing this, as the second the thought crossed your mind guilt weighed heavily upon your conscious. 

You had a full flask of drinking water, but it was just too dark. Just too scary.

But when a strained, painful sounding cough gasped out from the cell behind you several hours later, your resolve began to fade away like cinders from a burning log.


	2. Little Dove

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I'm not a scoundrel  
> It's just the suit that fits me  
> Cut tight and breathes nice  
> Maintains insanity  
> Never thought I'd be like a hunger with no appetite  
> A hunter with no urge for thrills  
> The type of man I despise
> 
> So I ask the devil  
> How to learn to handle  
> A woman with a shovel  
> Digging downward spirals.”
> 
> Knuckle Down - Man Man

He could not believe what he had been hearing. 

If his throat didn’t feel so dry that it could crack open, Sylas might have called out when the armored swine grabbed the girl the first time. There were fewer people Sylas despised more than that man, and having to observe the entire scene silently had made his skin crawl. 

Just who the hell was in charge of the soldiers in Demacia anymore? 

Clearly not someone with intelligence.

Fuming in the dark, Sylas listened to the girl sob quietly on the floor. The young woman held her spear close to her chest like a friend and she cried into her knees. She seemed sadder about being there than he did, and she was the jailer. Despite the usual, overwhelming numbness, Sylas felt a pang of sympathy for her. 

He then made the mistake of wondering what she looked like. Worst yet, it seemed that the harder he tried to cast the intrigue away, the stronger it felt. He hadn’t been quite able to gather her features earlier as it was already dark in his cell, but he had caught the vague shape of her and her [h/c] hair before she sat on the ground. Even though she was a little thing, the girl carried her armor and spear with a learned manner that only came from practiced experience. 

But now, she was huddled on the ground, her head tucked into her knees, crying quietly in the candlelit hall of Isolation Block Three. 

He wasn’t sure what to think. Even though he wanted to hate her and everything she stood for outright, Sylas could not ignore the feeling deep in his gut that told him just how wrong he was. The same intuition he had used to find mages in hiding years ago now resonated with the female guard, no matter how much he wanted to deny it’s truth. His secret intuition had never, ever been wrong. Not once. In that moment, Sylas realized the most important aspect of it all. 

She had no idea. 

Right now, she was just a young woman who was unknowingly benefiting from the pain of her own people, just to afford to eat and bathe. It was all too familiar, and it made him feel slightly nauseous. 

The girl eventually stood back up, and he watched her rub her face; it had been a rough night for her clearly. The girl turned to face towards his cell and he noticed she had large, [e/c] eyes. Sylas’s intuition cinched, and in that moment, he knew the guard was truly something special. 

She just had no idea. 

Sylas gritted his teeth as the girl turned away from him, pulling herself into the classic, oppressive stance before the window of the cell door. Whatever he had been thinking about doing, he had missed the chance to do it. Sylas stared at the back of the girl’s head and tried to ignore the overwhelming dryness in his body. If there was any hope of him reaching her, he knew he was going to have to be patient.

\----

 

He wasn’t sure how long it had been when his cough from hours ago returned. 

It began with the tickle of a raspy breath, which caused an itch to quickly climb up his throat. As hard as he tried to stay silent, Sylas couldn’t hold it in and he coughed noisily into the darkness surrounding him. It had been an ugly sound; the kind of noise you only heard from someone very desperate for liquids. Cursing himself, he looked back up at the window of the cell door with bleary eyes. 

The girl stood facing away from him still. He exhaled softly in relief, glad he hadn’t scared her into panicking and pulling the lever outside his cell. Most of the day-shift guards enjoyed yanking the lever for just about any reason. His relief faded, however, when the girl slowly began to turn around after a shy peek over her shoulder. 

Shit. Now he had done it. 

Now he had her attention, but he didn’t have a plan for what to do with it. All because of a cough! He silently prayed that this girl was different than the last few night watchmen. 

The girl stepped closer to the door cautiously, her features becoming clearer as she stepped fully into view. She really did have a sweet face. It was the kind of face a person had before they really understood the truth of the kingdom around them. 

He remembered that well too. 

After what felt like centuries of the girl peering into the cell (and unknowingly at him), she spoke in a voice that was almost a whisper. 

“...Are you…. alright in there?” 

Once again, he couldn’t believe his ears. 

For the first time in 15 years of imprisonment, someone asked Sylas how he was feeling without a drop of malice or sadism in their voice. She simply felt sorry for him, and that was all. As much as he hated admitting it to himself, his heart ached with the act of concern. 

It felt good. It felt so good that there was a kind person in a hopeless place such as this. 

Sylas had died many deaths in his cell, but her voice had awoken something inside of him. Her words had felt like warm water against his tired soul, confused by the strange comfort she brought him. Had he really forgotten what kindness felt like?

He must have taken too long thinking about the answer in his state of dehydration, as the girl continued speaking to fill his silence.

“...I….I have some water with me…” she said into the darkness that covered him.

He really couldn’t believe it. This was actually happening, and it wasn’t a fever dream this time. Though the offer seemed harmless enough, Sylas’s mind raced with clusters of questions. 

This girl was going to try and help him, even knowing that something terrible could happen to her so easily? 

Did she forget about the lever by the cell or was she purposely not using it against him? 

Was this strange nicety all an act? Perhaps another one of Fawkes’s sick “regimens”?

Before he could convince himself otherwise, Sylas found himself calling out to her in spite of himself. The chance for water was too tempting, and he was afraid of missing this chance to establish a….something with the girl.

“Please.” he said calmly, though it came out more as a dry growl. He was almost surprised by how rough his voice sounded now; he truly felt like a ghost of his former self.

The door creaked open slowly and the jailer stepped into the doorway, her armor blinding his eyes from the newly introduced sheen of the sconces. He groaned and turned his head, facing away from the alien light in the room. His head was absolutely pounding from the lack of water. 

Careful footsteps were padding towards him and as much as he disliked the added sting, his eyes opened in disbelief as the sound only neared closer. The guard took jittery steps towards him, canteen in one hand and spear pointed downwards in the other. If laughing wouldn’t likely shred his throat right now, he absolutely would have. She was so nervous that the ill-fitting chainmail underneath her armor was audibly jingling.

She was petrified of him. 

Regardless of the danger, she still saw him as a human being who was suffering. His expression softened as he recognized what the feeling he had felt earlier was. It was the possibility of a second chance. An opportunity to change the world that had put them in these opposing positions. She was a seed of revolution delivered to him by fate, personally, to nurture and grow. The girl could be the symbol of resurgence within the dormant mage rebellion….he only had to show her what she was capable of doing. It all just had to be done right. If he scared her off at any point, he would lose his final chance at freedom and reclaiming his life.

As the girl stepped closer to him, Sylas lifted his head instinctually. The chains that bound him rattled noisily despite the slight movement, which caused the girl to gasp and scramble backwards. 

He tried to imagine how intimidating he must look to her, but could not picture what he looked like any longer. 

Sylas knew that he was a rather large man. The rippling muscles underneath his scarred skin gave him quite the terrifying appearance, especially in the state he was in currently. The dehydration had caused his muscles to bulge, making his already strong form look even more intense. A few strands of his dark, sable hair hung limply in his face. He knew that if anything, he was starting to look the role for the monster the kingdom had painted him as.

She was frozen before him; only a few more strides and she would be within his range. Conflict swam in her [e/c] eyes as she watched him warily. The girl had chosen not to use the lever, this much was obvious now, but she was definitely questioning her decisions from the massive size of both his body and the petricite ore above him. 

She was going to bolt if he didn’t say something quick. 

Without thinking, Sylas spoke to her. 

“-won't hurt you.” he croaked. The girl’s eyes widened. She began to bite her lip, but he noticed that she seemed to relax just a little.

“Just thirsty. I won't hurt y--” Sylas coughed raggedly, causing the chains to rattle noisily once again before he could make his promise. The dryness in his throat and lungs made every wheeze a wave of burning, grating pain. The dehydration was becoming truly unbearable. He smiled at her weakly, but one of his eyes betrayed him and began to water, giving him the appearance that he was on the verge of tears. If he had the energy to be embarrassed, he might have been.

“I won't even look upon you, if you wish.” he managed out before another coughing fit hit him with the force of a fist.

He watched as she weighed her options silently. She lowered the tip of her spear, thinking about what she wanted to do as she looked away from him, sadness deep in her eyes. She was clearly worried about him. The “terrible” and “murderous” mage, Sylas of Dregbourne, still had one person who cared for him, even after all the time that had past. Though it had felt like ages, it had only been a few minutes when she made her decision. 

She looked away from the things that bound him and stepped forward. 

She slowly walked towards him, stepping around the chains on the floor as she crept towards him. His stomach lept as she approached; his body was too weak to do anything other than sit upright, and the blatant vulnerability made him anxious. The familiar, metallic sound of her boots as she walked across the cold floor was enough to make the hair on his arms stand on end; every time he had heard that sound before, nothing good had ever followed. 

As she came before his weakened state, she let out a shocked gasp and her face visibly paled as her gaze passed over him. He really must look awful.

“...This is….this is so wrong...” she breathed, closing the distance between them with a hurt look in her [e/c] gaze. Every nerve in Sylas’s body went live as she knelt before him, but he resisted the impulse to reach out and take the girl’s magic by force. 

No, he wouldn’t crush the little dove and her olive branch. 

He refused to ruin his single hope of escape by hijacking potentially useless magic. Instead, he let her close in on him, waiting like a wounded animal as his deep-rooted distrust wrestled with his desperation for water.

With a shaking hand, she reached towards his face. Sylas braced himself.

She brushed the hair out of his face with the delicacy one might use to handle a stray dog, his rough stubble scraping her fingertips as she did so. He couldn’t resist from sighing into the warmth of her touch. Their eyes met for a moment, and he could tell that she was feeling less afraid of him, even if by a slight measure. As she brought the canteen to his lower lip, it was practically vibrating from her anxious shaking. 

“...I won’t hurt you...” Sylas reassured her, before shutting his eyes and parting his lips slightly. The split in his bottom lip cracked, and a small bead of ruby red blood ran down his chin. 

Relief finally came to him as a slow stream of water graced his dry lips, unable to hold back the quiet moan that escaped him as the liquid washed over his parched palette. It was unreal to him just how delicious the water tasted, and he wanted to relish in it for a moment. He closed his eyes and held the luke-warm water in his mouth, losing himself for a brief moment before swallowing. 

Though he felt rather stupid shutting his eyes like this, his curiosity and reawakened thirst led him to parting his lips once more. The water returned at a slow, comforting pace, just like it had been the first drink. He filled his mouth completely before swallowing this time.

“Don’t...don’t drink it too fast. You’ll get sick.” the girl cautioned, wiping his chin gingerly with the back of her hand. After the fourth drink, the canteen had been drained of its contents. 

Sylas opened his eyes feeling better than he had all week. The water had him feeling like a human being once again. As his eyes drifted from the canteen to the girl in the half darkness of the cell, he noticed she was blushing. She awkwardly screwed the cap back onto the bottle, fumbling the cap a few times in the darkness, avoiding his burning blue stare. When her [e/c] eyes caught his own, he felt an ancient phrase bubbling to the surface.

“Thank you…...little dove.” 

Then she smiled at him. 

A real, genuine smile. 

Only for him. 

It was the kind of smile reserved for two people that shared a secret.

His heart ached. She was going to leave.

And with that thought, she rose from her feet and began to back away from him. Into the light of the free world outside. Her retreat was still slow and careful, watching the massive chains as if they could rise up and bite her at any second.

He watched her walk back into the lying light of Demacia as the cell door creaked shut. As if it had all been a daydream, the girl returned to her post. Closing his eyes and relaxing, Sylas tried to focus on the memory of her careful touch. The sun was going to rise soon, and he needed the rest for whatever horrors the morning held for him.

While the future was never a promise in the Demacian jail, the cycles of day and night certainly were, and with that, he eventually fell into an uncomfortable rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love listening to music to get ideas for stories! 
> 
> I thought it would be fun to include the songs that remind me of Sylas and the story.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading! I am currently halfway through writing chapter three, so come back soon! You can always hear about updates and see my league related artwork on my Tumblr too!
> 
> Find me under https://enterghostfactory.tumblr.com/


	3. Fear and Loathing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "We stand on the edge,  
> ready to stay.
> 
> Looking on that cage,  
> it's not all right."
> 
> Sons - Concorde

The rest of the evening passed by while countless thoughts plagued your mind.

What in Runeterra had you just done? 

Getting caught helping Sylas would cause terrible things to happen, this much you knew, but were you really going to stand by and watch him suffer like that? You couldn’t get the image of the man’s state out of your mind. How many years had this been going on for? 

What other “regimens” occurred when you weren't there? You shivered at the idea of what Sylas must go through during the day. Deep in your bones, you knew there was no good reason for what was being done to him. The other guards saw him as something lower than dirt, and it was blinding them from the atrocity of their actions. All they saw in him was murder and magic; it was all so unbelievably cruel. 

Was this treatment really what a proud, shining example of a kingdom used behind closed doors? 

Frustrated with all the pressing questions and zero answers, you gazed up at the windows high upon the marble hallway walls. The sky was a gentle blue; sunrise would be upon Demacia soon. While it did mean you got to leave the miserable place, it also meant that Fawkes would be returning. A cold sweat started its beginnings on your back as you remembered the last encounter with the Captain. 

You prayed to any deity that would hear you that Fawkes wouldn’t notice anything unusual.

With less than an hour left of your shift, your worries drifted from the incoming sadist to the man in the cell. Curious, you decided to peek over your shoulder and through the cell window once again. It was still decently dark inside the room, but you could actually see him! 

He was…asleep...? 

The man lay in the center of the isolation cell, slightly curled in on himself, his eyes shut and his expression soft. Even in a completely relaxed state, he still looked intimidating and powerful. Seeing that his chest was rising and falling gently, you decided it would be best not to continue staring in case he woke up. You weren’t sure of the specific reason as to why, but it was difficult to take your eyes off of him. What you did know, however, was that you felt awful. 

The fact that you were going to watch Sylas suffer every day was beginning to sink in. Your stomach churned while your brain tried to shove the thought away, though try as you might, you simply could not ignore the reality of the situation. Someone had to do the right thing in this rat cage and that someone was going to have to be you. 

The right thing in question just...happened...to maybe be helping a prisoner this time.

Like something out of a nightmare, Captain Fawkes burst through the iron double doors of Isolation Block Three. Maybe it was the exhaustion, maybe it was the budding terror, but something about the scene made you want to burst into laughter. The guard marched towards you alarmingly fast for how early it was in the morning. Bile rose in your throat as you wondered if Fawkes was excited to start his shift; the Captain probably lived for his personal chew toy. Disgusted and beyond tired, you glared as Fawkes closed the gap.

He stopped before you, his plate-mail clanking obnoxiously. Two beautiful medals were affixed to the front of the wool cloak he wore and you clenched your jaw as you recognized their meanings. The first was a classic shield of Demacia decorated with a single red gem, symbolizing a recognized act of heroics. The second medal was one of rank, displaying that Fawkes was a decorated member of the kingdom’s militia. 

“The fuck are you staring at, Private!?” the towering man barked into your face. A sudden rattling of chains echoed throughout the long hallway. Fawkes had scared him awake on purpose. 

Asshole.

“Your medals sir. I was admiring the shine.” 

The Captain’s eyes narrowed as he observed your face. You force yourself to maintain the eye contact as you felt eyes boring into the back of your head. 

Sylas was listening. 

After what seemed like a minute, the guard’s sour expression morphed into one of pride. The corners of the man’s lips curled into a smile as he began to smooth his mustache. You had flattered him. “As you should. Worked my ass off for the damn things back in...” he trailed off as his interest in you died and his gaze drifted to the cell door. 

“Was he quiet?” he questioned, not breaking the distant, hungry stare fixated over your head. The silence in the room begged for immediate response. Not wanting to cause any issues for the already miserable man, you lied to your superior without a second thought.

“Very easy shift indeed Sir. I did have to pull the lever on him once though, the incessant coughing was getting on my nerves.” you answered sternly. A heavy hand crashed down upon your shoulder as Fawkes’s face beamed. The sicko was actually proud of you. 

“Excellent! I told ya’ my regimens work. You just have to find what will wear em’ down is all.” Fawkes explained jovially. Turning away from you, Fawkes glided over to the cell window with a sneer spreading across his face. “Isn’t that right, Trash? Only took you almost dying again to learn some manners.” the Captain jeered into the window, chuckling to himself when no response followed. 

You were done. 

You knew that if you heard the vile man run his mouth any longer, you were going to say something and blow your cover. Sylas had done his part, now you needed to finish yours. Turning to Fawkes, you cleared your throat, quite possibly the quietest it had ever been done. Without missing a beat, the guard whipped around and scrunched his nose. 

“May I leave my post Captain?” 

Addressing the man with that amount of politeness took every ounce of willpower you had left in you for the day. He took a moment, but eventually the monstrous man rolled his eyes and gestured for you to go. Nodding in approval, you spun on your heel and began to walk away. After about ten paces, you were stopped by a firm grip on your shoulder.

No. 

Not this again. 

Anything but this again. 

An iron covered hand roughly turned your body around, swinging your face almost directly into Fawkes’s. His breath filled your nostrils with the stink of beer and garlic; the fucker had to be eating a clove a day to reek like that. His eyes were like needles as he glared into your frightened [e/c] eyes. 

“Let me see your canteen Private.” he growled, his upper lip twitching as he enunciated each word deliberately. 

Fuck. 

To avoid furthering the guard’s obvious suspicion, you shakily reached for the bottle at your hip. He snatched the canteen out of your hands the second you unhooked it from the strap. Fawkes’s eyebrows furrowed and his teeth started to bare slightly, anger washing over him as it was clear the bottle was empty. 

“Awfully fucking thirsty for the middle of fall eh, Private? Care to explain that [y/n]?” he seethed. Even though you were absolutely afraid of this man (and rightfully so), you found the composure to lie once more. 

“You hurt my throat,” you began, pulling the fabric of your undershirt away from your neck before continuing, hoping to Zaun that there was some kind of evidence from the night before, “and instead of crying about it I solved the problem”. Fawkes’s eyes widened as the exposed, purpling bruises on your skin caught his gaze. He gritted his teeth visibly as he began to realize his mistake. Regardless if he was right in his suspicion or not, you had enough leverage to stop his advancing rage. Perhaps he was afraid of you reporting him? 

“I’ll see you here, on time, at dusk,” he grunted, before turning away from you in frustration. 

Ha! You really did have some leverage here. Good. Turning away yourself, you made your long walk to the double door exit. Your boots clattered against the stone floor, echoing throughout the massive building structure with a strange sort of eeriness. It was too quiet. 

As you reached the handle of the iron door before you, a horrific sound thundered through the air. You had never, ever heard before, and it filled you with terror as it echoed loudly in your ears. After the initial few seconds of shock and awe, you realized what the terrible cacophony was. It was the sound of heavy, massive chains being pulled rapidly into the ground. You stood frozen there, facing the door and gripping the handle in horror. It was terrible. It was really, really terrible what you were hearing, and you were already so tired. 

Weakly, you pushed your way through the heavy iron doors, shaking and upset. 

You just wanted to stop thinking for a while. Tonight had been way too much. Numb and distraught, you slowly walked your way down the stairs and eventually into the bottom floor. The directory was always quiet in the morning; only a few guards passed through at this hour. You put your hour card into the metal machine, and upon the metallic clack on the punch, yanked it back out and left the building. 

Was there anything else you could do for Sylas? 

Surely there…had to be something you could do to keep the man’s sentence from staying a constant cycle of misery and abuse. You became deeply lost in thought as you considered small ways to provide some form of comfort. 

Two things in your old, ramshackle apartment came immediately to mind. A small smile found your lips as you entered your living district; you knew what you could do and it wouldn’t be hard to sneak it with you either. Pleased with yourself now knowing that you had a plan to help Sylas feel a little better, you slipped into the alley towards your home. 

 

You hope he doesn't hate oatmeal raisin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are going to start getting more interesting from here on out! ^^
> 
> I apologize for how long it took me to get through setting things up but I don't want to rush the story. Hope everyone enjoyed!


	4. Tame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are starting to snowball, and boy am I excited to keep on writing C:
> 
> Violence warning for this chapter and the next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Lay beside me, under wicked skies  
> Through black of day, dark of night, we share this paralyze.  
> The door cracks open, but there's no sun shining through  
> Black heart scarring darker still, but there's no sun shining through  
> No, there's no sun shining through  
> No, there's no sun shining...
> 
> What I've felt, what I've known  
> Turn the pages, turn the stone  
> Behind the door, should I open it for you?”
> 
> Unforgiven II - Metallica

He was in the clearing again. 

Though the dream always felt unsatisfying when he awoke, he couldn’t deny the temporary relief it brought this time. As he looked around, the area remained the same as it always was. Just an open clearing and a pale, cloudless sky stretching endlessly above. The thin, green blades of grass swayed in gentle rolls, as if welcoming him home to a place he had never been. No breeze blew against his face this time round, however, so he shut his eyes and listened for anything strange; as usual, the clearing was dead silent. 

He hated this recurring dream the most out of all of them. 

The details always felt off in the dream, and though Sylas would refuse to admit it to anyone, he knew it was because he was beginning to forget. He could only remember the visceral details of the outside world, and those details faded further away into nothingness the longer he was imprisoned. There was never any birdsong or the rustling of leaves, simply because he could not remember what they sounded like. 

Before he could enjoy the peace and quiet of unreality, it was interrupted with the usual, unintelligent bellowing from Fawkes. Having been so deep in his slumber, the sudden noise jerked him awake nastily, causing his chains to clatter against the stone floor. Rolling his eyes in irritation, a shiver wracked his body involuntarily. It was freezing this morning, and the cell floor felt more like a chunk of ice than it did rock.

 

“Your medals sir! I was admiring the shine!”

 

The girl was getting lectured again. That would explain the sudden yelling.

Sylas lifted himself as silently as he could to hear what the two were saying. Sweat rose on his forehead as he remembered the night before. The girl’s canteen was empty and he was sure Fawkes would ask about it if he felt suspicious. So far though, Fawkes didn’t seem to suspect anything… The two guards were conversing with obvious tension between them, but the Captain did not lash out at her for a second time. Perhaps he wouldn’t think to check? 

Without warning, Fawkes’s harsh stare caught his own. He was staring straight at him; a hunger for suffering starting to evolve on the man’s scarred face. Sylas matched the Captain’s gaze with an equal expression of hatred.

Today was going to be a bad day. 

Fawkes only ever made that look at Sylas when he was overtly pissed off. 

Had she accidentally tipped him off? His body tensed.

Suddenly, the Captain turned to the girl and slammed his hand down upon her shoulder, making her lose balance; Sylas instinctually stepped forwards, but he forced himself to not move closer and draw attention to himself. 

He did not understand why exactly he hated that man touching her (or if he even should), but it made Sylas want to strangle Fawkes then and there. The girl looked shocked by the change in demeanor of the Captain, but seemed to be going along with the conversation relatively fine. Watching the two guards interacting was akin to viewing a cat circle a decent sized bird; the pair had not yet decided who would make the first mistake, and they would challenge each other every dawn and dusk. Though Fawkes was clearly dominating the situation, the girl remained steadfast against his onslaught. 

“Isn’t that right, Trash?!”

Fawkes’s shout brought him out of his thoughts, but the words had lost their sting many years ago.

“Only took you almost dying again to learn some manners.” the Captain jeered into the window of the cell, blocking the light out of the room. Before Sylas could figure out something that would really get under the man’s skin, a tiny noise sounded from behind the sneering face in front of him. Fawkes chuckled as he turned away from the window and back to the girl.

She must have asked him something, but it was too quiet for him to hear. Moments after, the Captain waved her off nonchalantly. Sylas grinned to himself as he realized that they had gotten away with the water. 

Fawkes was too stupid to think to ask about the canteen. 

Hilarious. 

In what felt like slow motion, the guard turned and seized the girl by her shoulder. She squeaked in shock as the man roughly yanked her into facing him, her body completely blocked by Fawkes’s own. 

“Let me see your canteen, Private.” 

His body ran cold. 

No. 

No no no no this could NOT happen. That girl was the only light in this dark place. 

This couldn’t be--

She unhooked the canteen from her hip and a choir of NO’s screamed in his head. 

Fawkes yanked the canteen from her hand the second it was free, quickly becoming enraged with the girl. It was empty. It was empty, and it was his fault. The canteen was empty because he didn’t control himself and wait a day longer. 

That nice girl was about to be harmed and it was because of Sylas. His breathing halted to a horrified, breathless stare. Sylas prayed into nothingness. 

“Awfully fucking thirsty for the middle of fall eh, Private!? Care to explain that [y/n]!?” 

Her name. 

Gods above he knew her name. 

[Y/N]. 

A despair he had not felt in seven years returned to him in a wave. He was going to lose the one person who had been kind to him since then, and he had only just thought to ask for her name. He trembled slightly, the cuffs were beginning to feel too heavy to lift, his mind tearing at itself in guilt. This was his fault. 

The two guards stood locked together for several minutes, discussion happening, but not loud enough for Sylas to hear the resolution. He grinded his teeth as he waited, releasing his jaw when the two parted from each other, now both seemingly relaxed. 

“I’ll see you here, on time, at dusk.” he grunted, before turning away from the girl in frustration.

[Y/n] had done it. She had something on Fawkes, and she had played her cards right. If she hadn’t have done so, the girl wouldn't be walking away and would instead be dragged down into the dungeons. 

She had done it. 

He just had to endure until dusk.

Sylas kept his face neutral as best he could, then took a few steps into the back of his cell. Fawkes wasn’t in view from the cell door, so he wasn’t sure what was coming next. 

Without warning, the heavy chains began to rapidly snake into the depths of the ceiling above. 

If the feeling of his arms being spread apart weren’t painful enough, it forced him into standing on his toes with just enough strain to make it uncomfortable. The ore that filled his bonds was pulling the magic out of his body at a rhythmically fast, invasive rate. It felt like someone sticking their hands in and pulling out handfuls of what made him, himself. No matter how long he spent in this place, he would never get used to the lever being thrown against him and the white-hot pain of the petricite ore. All he could do was stand there and grind his teeth in agony, trying to focus on anything else but the pain in his hands and the newly added weight on his shoulders. The longer the lever was thrown, the more intense the burning sensation felt, as he knew it would work its way up from inside the heavy cuffs and into his shoulders. 

Attempting to recenter his focus off of the pain for a third time, he looked ahead and through the cell window. At the very end of the hall stood [y/n]. 

She had froze at the double doors for a moment before pushing through them and leaving.

He smiled to himself privately. 

She really, genuinely cared for his well being. What a strange twist of fate indeed.

Sylas held that feeling close as Fawkes unceremoniously threw open the isolation cell door. The sunrise’s rays lit the room as the man strode in languidly, The Look fully developed in his eyes. Sylas wanted to brace himself, but he knew it was too early for it; if he wore himself out now, Fawkes might actually get to him later on in the afternoon. Instead, Sylas relaxed into his cuffs and let the burning sensation wash over him, focusing on tempering his mind in between the few happy memories he had. 

“You know, I really fucking hate your kind… but girls like that one are the worst. Always cryin’ and trying to get away being nice to child MURDERERS-”, and with that word, an armoured fist slammed into Sylas’s core with the speed of a piston. He gasped as the wind was knocked from his lungs, groaning and going limp in his restraints, sucking in air fruitlessly. 

It sounded like Fawkes might have broken a rib; any air that he managed into his lungs were immediately followed by sharp, stabbing pains in his chest. Sylas was both a physically and mentally strong man, but he was also malnourished and severely dehydrated, which made absorbing blows much more difficult. When he could breathe and see straight, he raised his head with a grunt; the long, dark hairs [y/n] had fixed the night before fell back into his eyes. 

Fawkes stood before him, expectant. 

“What’d [y/n] do last night Scum?” he asked curtly, his eyes narrowing on Sylas’s. 

Sylas looked at Fawkes trying to appear as unfazed as he could. The man thrived on reactions and he knew that better than anything. With a ever-present pain in his side, he forced himself to respond, bitterness dripping from each word. 

“She cried.”

For a brief second, Fawkes seemed unsure of how to respond; his answer was clearly not a lie, but it wasn’t what he had wanted to hear from him either. The Captain then pulled the heavy, iron collar that hung around Sylas’s neck aggressively, forcing him forward and tight against his restraints. The mage groaned under his breath, keeping his head down and his eyes out of view. 

Sylas could ignore the rib, but the combination of incredible strain and the searing sensation of the petricite ore was something to behold. He clenched his eyes shut, desperate to try and keep his mental focus, but even that was becoming an impossible endeavor. His brain was absolutely screaming to pry the cuffs off, and yet there they remained, unchanging and ever draining magic.

It hurt. It really, really hurt. 

“Now you remember where the fuck you are, don’t you, Dregbourne?” 

Did he? 

What day was it again? 

Had he forgotten to write it on the floor?

“The fact that ANYONE can feel an ounce of sympathy for a piece of human garbage like you is astounding. Even with your affliction, you were given a wonderful opportunity at life with the Seekers, but what the fuck did you do? Oh, that's right...”, Fawkes yanked Sylas’s face upwards, his blue eyes a mixture of pain and sheer hatred, “...You decided to kill a little girl, both Mage Seekers charged with handling your bullshit for the day, and MY former General, the man who taught me everything. You deserve every fuckin’ thing that happens to you in here. You got that?” 

Sylas nodded in answer, fighting his eyes from rolling back as the petricite’s burn crept up into his shoulders and neck. He wished the bastard knew just how wrong he was, but he didn’t care about changing his mind. Fawkes was a lost cause if there ever was one. 

“I’ll ask one more time….what’d she do last night?” Fawkes questioned smoothly, an eerie grin on his face as his prisoner fought to stay conscious; the wizard was crumbling before his eyes. 

The misery was starting to make Sylas angry. 

The Captain never had enough of watching Sylas suffer, regardless of the absolute, mind-bending agony he was already in. The man’s dark eyes remained fixed on his face, grinning as he found a new insult coming to mind.

“She fuck you? I bet she did.” 

He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t control his anger any longer. 

Sylas lifted his head and spit as hard as he could into Fawkes’s face. He had gotten him square between the eyes. Fawkes wiped it away with a single, long drag of his hand across his face. This was not the first time Sylas had pulled this move. 

Before Fawkes could respond back, Sylas felt himself beginning to black out. 

His vision was quickly melting into a kaleidoscope of black and greys as the Captain’s words faded away from him. The burning was the only thing he could feel and the world was falling away around him, his body going slack in his bonds as it finally got to relax. Sylas wasn’t sure, but he swore he heard Fawkes say something before the darkness took hold of him. 

 

 

 

 

He was in the clearing again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡☉ ͜ʖ ͡☉) oh boy


	5. Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Violence warning for this chapter.  
> Promise there will be lighter stuff ahead! 
> 
>  
> 
> ......ᕙ(⇀‸↼‶)ᕗ please don't hate me!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “And my heart it shook with fear  
> I'm a coward behind a shield and spear.  
> Take this sword and throw it far  
> Let it shine under the morning star.
> 
> Who are you? Who am I to you?  
> I am the Antichrist to you?  
> Fallen from the sky with grace  
> Into your arms race.”
> 
> Am I the Antichrist to You? - Kishi Bashi

You couldn’t believe yourself, but….you were actually a little happy to be starting your shift soon. 

As your metallic boots clicked against the stone road, your gaze caught on the highest tower of the Demacian prison looming ahead. The white walls of the jail were elegantly carved despite the building’s dark purpose, it’s beauty now highlighted from the twilight falling upon the kingdom. Iron braziers that lined the city’s streets now cast an elegant, calm glow over the cobblestone. 

There was hardly anyone out and about at this hour, making everything feel very still and peaceful. You winced as the thought of how such a beautiful place hid such a dark secret high in its towers. 

Not wanting to be late again, you quickened your pace through the shopping district and towards the man you knew was desperately waiting for relief. 

A small grin found your lips as the cloth-wrapped oatmeal bar and a small poetry book slid around the inside of your ill-fitting, chainmail undershirt. The contraband was disguised perfectly by your armor, which had you feeling more than a little proud of yourself for thinking of the idea. 

You wanted to bring some form of comfort to Sylas, but even now, you were still unsure if what you had smuggled with you was enough. The memory of his physical state haunted your attempts at sleep that earlier morning, and though you had no idea how to start interacting with him again, you knew that you had to do something. 

\---  
You hurriedly shoved your time card into the dreaded box and waited for the click. You were a few minutes early, but that didn’t matter. All being early meant was that Sylas would receive help sooner. Restraining yourself from speed walking, you began the long trudge up the seven sets of stairs, up and towards the high tower of Isolation Block Three. 

The climb always felt too long. 

When you finally reached the top floor, you stepped towards the iron double doors cautiously; faint noise could be heard on the other side, but it seemed to hush as you approached. 

Immediately fearing for Sylas’s safety, you pushed through the doors. The long marble hallway laid before you, empty of anything except for the muffled grunts and sounds of impact that came from the door at the end of the hall. 

Fawkes was in there with him. 

A torch was lit inside of the cell, but you couldn’t see around the Captain’s hulking frame in the doorway. Without thinking twice about it, you broke into a fear fueled, half-run. The sound of your boots and armor gave you away as you approached the door, causing Fawkes to turn around when you reached the threshold. 

The guard was breathing like he was out of breath. 

Fawkes’s gauntlets were strangely missing, and his knuckles were bruised a deep purple, still recovering from whatever he had been doing to the prisoner. He laughed briefly as your face changed into an expression of both confusion and horror. 

“You’re early Private. Glad to see you takin’ the job seriously now.”

A cold stone dropped into your stomach as he purposely blocked your view of Sylas. All you could do was stare wordlessly at the Captain, petrified with the new understanding that he had you exactly where he wanted you.

“Today’s a new regimen. He still won’t follow the rules, as per fuckin’ usual.” he chuckled, starting to finally catch his breath. 

He rubbed his knuckles in an effort to soothe the darkening skin as he watched your face intently. You wanted to look around him to see Sylas, but you knew you couldn’t make your concern obvious. The conversation was becoming a deadly dance between the two of you.

“W-what are you going to do...?” you managed to choke out, your voice cracking half-way through the sentence. 

Just what in Void’s name had he planned to do to him? 

Hadn’t the Captain had enough already?

Fawkes’s mustache tilted upwards as his grin spread wider; malice practically radiating off of him. He had something planned.

“I’m not doin’ shit this time.” he sneered, his eyes full of that same predatory look he had given you on the first day.

 

You froze in terror. 

 

“You are.” 

 

With that, Fawkes grabbed your arm hard and pulled you to his side, both of you standing to face towards the prisoner. What you saw there made you stop breathing.

Sylas was hanging limp in his cuffs, barely conscious.

His head was tilted back, his face fluttering in and out of consciousness. The cut on the right side of his bottom lip from the night before was now completely split, and the blood had covered his chin; the wound would absolutely scar his face permanently. 

You had never seen how the cuff and chain restraints worked, and it was clear that they were extremely painful, as his eyebrows were still knitted together from enduring the constant agony. The cuffs drained his body with a rhythmic, indigo pulse; the magical energy being pulled deep into the petricite ore that was embedded in the ceiling. 

You could hear him grinding his teeth even from this distance. 

His body was drenched in sweat, hair hung in his face, and his skin was covered in ugly, black bruises, the darkest of them being on his face and torso. 

 

Fawkes had been beating him since you left this morning.

Your stomach flipped, and you clenched your spear in a white-knuckled grasp, body rooted to the spot with a look of paralyzed shock spread across your features. 

Your throat tightened as Sylas tried to lift his head and rouse himself back to being fully conscious. He knew you were there, and he definitely heard what Fawkes had said. 

You began to panic as you realized just how injured he was. Before you could turn to face the older guard in protest, he stepped in front of you and stood near the side of the restrained man. The look in the Captain’s eyes scared you more than the foreign, glistening weapon he held in his hand. 

 

“Drop the spear and walk,” he demanded, looking over the strange knife in his hands curiously as if it were a sort of boring toy.

You wanted to be sick.

If you refused the Captain’s orders, he would know that you sympathized with the prisoner. If you didn’t step forward now, you would confirm his suspicion of where the water had truly gone. You would be caught helping Sylas illegally, and if that happened, you would never see him again. He would remain locked away with a sadist, with no hope of ever being comforted or treated kindly for the rest of his life. 

Fawkes was very clearly testing you, and he had played his hand perfectly. 

Feeling like a bucket of ice water was dumped into the pits of your stomach, you dropped the spear to the ground, the loud ring of silver against rock echoed throughout the marble chamber.

Sylas lifted his head groggily and faced towards the sound. His breathing was hoarse. 

His beautiful blue eyes widened with a look of horror as he began to register what was about to happen. Several emotions seemed to cross his mind as he watched the scene in disbelief; anger seemed to be dominating as he now glared at Fawkes, his eyes shooting daggers that would kill if they could. 

Your body was trembling as you began to step closer, your eyes not leaving the mage for a second. Your chainmail jingled as you neared your superior, remembering the presents you had brought for Sylas as they moved under your breastplate. 

How could you ever give them to him now?

As you reached the Captain, he looked up from the small knife and down at you. Sylas looked at you now with a knowing sadness and you parted eyes from him, now too ashamed to meet his gaze.

“Private, you ever saw one of these before?” he held it out to you, expecting you to take it. You shook your head in answer, afraid to touch the strange object; it was unlike anything you had ever seen, and the sheer look of the item gave you a sinister feeling. 

“This is called a Statikk Shiv [y/n]. Think you can guess why?” he asked, his tone oddly light for the situation he was controlling. It was as if none of this bothered the man at all.

You did not want to answer him, but you knew that you had to.

“....It’s….electrical…?” you whispered, unsure of your response. 

Fawkes beamed at you. Void below did you hate being right. 

“This sucker packs quite the punch,” he began seemingly excited by this premise, “in fact, it supposedly hurts so much, that even touching the flat of the blade to skin hurts like a motherfucker.” 

Sylas shifted in his restraints out of sight. 

Acid rose in the back of your throat as he now shoved the handle of the shiv into your hand. It felt unnaturally cool to the touch, glistening in the flickering light of the torch on the floor. Your reflection in the gleam was a mask of fear and confusion. You couldn’t do this to him, you just couldn’t. 

“Guess what makes this thing work?” Fawkes questioned you again, his voice low with a new disgust. He was still staring at the blade in your hands, his eyes narrowing on it in thought. 

It took you a minute before responding with a defeated, “...I don’t know sir.”

The captain grimaced. 

“Magic,” he stated bluntly. You looked at the Captain in alarm. Owning an object like this was…beyond illegal in Demacia, especially in the capitol. As much as you wanted to alert him to this fact, he continued speaking before you could summon the bravery to challenge him.

“It’s magic that makes a terrible weapon like that work.” the Captain preached, his gaze now leaving the illegal item and resting on Sylas. 

“It’s magic that makes this fuckin’ world suffer and destroy people in unimaginable ways. It’s why this city was built, to keep scum like him and the mages that make these damn things out. The decent people of Demacia deserve to be protected from shit like this!” he finished, the words cutting and cold. Though you would never validate it, you could hear a twinge of sadness in the old guard’s voice. He truly despised magic with his entire being, like most of the citizens of the kingdom. 

The room was quiet for a minute as you both looked at Sylas.

His eyes were shut now, but you knew he was listening intently. You could tell he was totally exhausted, both mentally and physically. You knew the prisoner couldn’t handle any more torture without losing a part of himself forever, and you refused to be the one who did that to him.

However, before you could react and move away, Fawkes got behind you. You froze in fear at the sudden ominous presence looming over you.

“Here is today’s regimen. Sylas refuses to listen to orders today, regardless of what kind of punishment I give em’. Hasn’t pulled this kind of bullshit with me in years. So since he’s clearly not gonna’ listen to me, he’s gonna’ listen to you.” 

Two massive hands firmly gripped your shoulders, turning you to face the drained man. Tremors raptured your body as you knew what Fawkes was going to say.

“Teach him a lesson. One touch of that and he’ll be nice an’ agreeable for now on.” Fawkes goaded you, pushing you slightly forward. 

You dug your heels into the floor firmly. You refused to do this to him, criminal or not. 

Just because Fawkes let his hatred make him into a monster didn’t mean you had to be one yourself. You rejected becoming numb to the barbarity of torture with every fiber of your being. He simply did not deserve any of this, regardless of what he had done. 

Sylas still kept his eyes shut, but you feel the anger still present underneath the calm expression. Fawkes knew that using you against him could be the straw that broke the camel’s back. 

“I can’t!” you cried. You shook your head in disagreeance, desperately hoping to appeal to the Captain’s remaining humanity. 

His grip only tightened on you. 

“He can’t take anymore! Can’t you see that?!” you sputtered hopelessly, your heart twisting as Sylas opened his eyes again. His expression was a mix of anger and guilt. 

“He’s had enough when I say he’s had enough, Private. Don’t forget your place here.” he snapped back at you. 

He began to push you towards the prisoner with a steady force, your metal boots dragging against the stone floor with a terrible scraping noise as you resisted.

Fawkes wasn’t going to give you the option of saying no. 

You began to struggle against his hold, twisting away from him and dropping the shiv to the floor in panic. The captain let you go, oddly enough, as you backed away from him and unknowingly closer to the mage. 

You were very close to Sylas now; the way he was struggling to breathe made your heart feel as if it were cracking like a cheap pane of glass. You had to protect him. If he received something that violent in his current state, you were unsure if he would be able to handle it mentally, let alone what the enchanted item might do to his already beyond damaged body. Very faintly, you heard him whisper something under his breath only for you to hear.

“...be strong little Dove.”

You truly started to sob as Fawkes closed in on you, his expression wild and unreadable. The shiv was in his hand. 

“I’m not askin’ you Private. I’m ordering you,” he said as he snatched you up for a second time, forcibly grabbing your arms and yanking you towards him. You gasped in shock and tried to turn from him, but Fawkes spun you around before you could squirm away. He forced the handle of the shiv into your hands, locking your grip on it by pinning your wrists and holding them together with his massive, calloused hand. 

You now brandished the flat side of the knife uncomfortably towards Sylas, the Captain’s short nails starting to break your skin as his grip dug in harder. You jerked and fought against him, a string of pleas begging him to let go falling on deaf ears.

Sylas watched in horror, his face now visibly upset from what he was witnessing. 

Your lungs began to hyperventilate as the reality of the events that were about to unfold became more and more finite. The fear of hurting a man who was already so gravely injured made your soul feel blacker than anything you had ever witnessed as a soldier, but all you could do was gasp and struggle against the man’s firm hold. You couldn’t drop the blade no matter how much you fought him or relaxed your hands. 

“You’re gonna’ learn how to do this job right, whether ya’ like it or not.”

Fawkes began to push you again, but this time the distance between you and the prisoner was much smaller. You dug your heels in as hard as you could as Sylas watched the scene begin to unfold before his eyes.

You could tell he was trying to be strong. His face was stern and focused as the two of you closed in, your heels now squealing against the stone floor as you cried and begged the Captain to stop what he was doing. 

“PLEASE! HE CAN’T TAKE ANY MORE!”

Sparks flew from the metal of your boots as they ground into the stone floor. You were simply not strong enough to stop him from moving you.

You tried stomping on the older guard’s foot, but Fawkes stepped out of your way with ease; he was used to prisoners struggling and you were easy mode.

“PLEASE--” was all you could get out before the gap came to a close between you and Sylas. 

His eyes were wild as the blade inched towards the flesh, his body trying to shy away reflexively, but unable to move. As the blade slowly inched closer, the hairs on his chest began to singe as it neared him. You tilted your hand back has hard as you could, straining your wrists to keep the blade off of him just a second longer. Sweat was pouring down him as he breathed erratically, despite his efforts to remain calm, he was still instinctively afraid of the unknown weapon. He watched the flat of the blade near his chest the way a wild horse would a branding iron. 

The Captain gave the final push towards Sylas, and a scream ripped from your throat as the blade’s edge pressed into the man’s skin. In a split second, violent crackles of white electricity sparked out of the blade’s edge, burning his skin rapidly and electrifying the man’s upper body. The current traveled up the man’s chains, electrifying the very restraints themselves. Smoke rose from the blade as Fawke’s pressed deeper and deeper, slowly burying the blade into the flesh. 

Sylas convulsed and hissed, before finally breaking into a yell as Fawkes pushed your hands down harder, digging the blade deep into his muscle and twisting. 

Both of you screamed together. The electricity caused the wound to cauterize and reopen repeatedly as the Captain forced your hand as hard as he could into the mage’s skin.

Tears blinded your eyes as Sylas’s blood now ran freely down the shiv, a smell of burning skin making you gag as you wailed, desperately trying to make it stop. You howled for Fawkes to stop as the man’s tortured scream broke into an abrupt silence. 

Sylas’s body gently went limp against the shiv, unable to move or speak any longer. Though he was still uncontrollably convulsing from the electricity running through him, his expression looked blank and shocked as he stared at the ground, sweat dripping from his forehead. 

The Captain finally pulled you off of the prisoner, the shiv losing it’s white glow the second it left the man’s skin. 

Sylas went limp in his cuffs as the current left his body and his chains. 

You stared in trepidation as tears poured down your face. 

He simply looked broken. 

Sylas was staring almost unblinkingly at the ground, his expression blank and defeated. His mind and body surely were in pieces from the heinousness he had just endured.

Fawke’s had found a way to break him, but you were the one to actually do it. 

The Captain’s grip left your wrists and you fell to your knees instantly, the stained shiv clattering to the floor forgotten. Blood coated your hands and you stared wordlessly at them in disbelief of what you had done to him. 

You had scarred him for life. His blood was literally on your hands.

You felt like a monster, regardless of extreme circumstances.

“I know it’s hard Private, but this is what Sylas CHOSE the day he murdered a little girl. He’d kill you too if he could, don’t think for a second that he wouldn’t. Never forget what this man is [y/n].”

Sylas’s blood was the same color as your own. 

“He’s a mage.”

 

 

With those three words, Fawkes scooped up the shiv and shoved it into a small eel-skin sheath. He walked out of the cell, leaving the torch and the injured man behind him. 

“See you in the morning, Private.”

Fawkes didn’t bother closing the cell door.

The restraints loosened suddenly as the Captain pulled the lever outside, dropping the injured man hard onto his knees, the violent sound of metal crashing to the ground echoing throughout the cell. 

Sylas kneeled for a moment, trying desperately to keep his last ounce of strength and dignity. He kneeled for only a few seconds before he swayed and fell to his side, smacking his head hard on the ground. His body had given up on him.

After what felt like years, the iron cell block doors creaked with closure.

You stared at the collapsed man with blurry eyes, your face red from crying and tears still flowing down your cheeks uncontrollably. You expected him to glare at you, to spit at you, to hate you in any way at the very least. You deserved his hatred from what you had done to him.

 

….Instead, Sylas looked at you with a soft expression, his eyes still glazed over with a mixture of pain and sadness. He was barely coherent. 

Before you could move or say anything, he spoke to your surprise instead. 

“...It’s...ok….[y/n]....”, the faintest rasp of a voice came from him, his chest heaving with each couple of words, “.....Demacia’s...fault….”.

He was trying to comfort you. After everything he had just gone through, he still remembered your name and was trying to reassure you. 

 

 

You closed your eyes and wept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ⚆ _ ⚆ I am so sorry. Happier things ahead. 
> 
>  
> 
> Sorta.


	6. Real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry about how long this took me. 
> 
> I have been struggling with some really severe pain due to Gastritis, and it has crippled my writing speed. I have to wait another three weeks until I can know for sure what treatment I need, so life has been sort of a waking nightmare. 
> 
> In brighter news, this chapter was a bit of a challenge to write, but is my longest so far at 15 pages!
> 
> I also wanted to thank you all for the feedback, support, and kudos. I promise I will continue to write more content for best boy.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Power is in inflicting pain and humiliation. Power is in tearing human minds to pieces and putting them together again in new shapes of your own choosing. Do you begin to see, then, what kind of world we are creating?”
> 
> Dystopia Now- Mental Minority  
> (excerpt from 1984)

Rage.

Sadness.

Guilt. 

They were the only things he could feel as he watched [y/n] cry on the ground several feet away from him, staring at her hands unseeing, apologizing incessantly for hurting him.

His blood still coated her soft skin, staining her palms a dark crimson. Each heavy sob wracked her body with a violent shudder, hiccuping occasionally as irregular breathing choked her between apologies. 

“I-I’m s-so s-s-sorry...” 

He shut his eyes and listened to her voice. 

The sorrow in her words was genuine, and it filled him with a new, unique sadness and rage, that were only being calmed by his lack of physical energy. While he had been in bad shape due to the Captain’s ‘regimens’, this was a new low he had never experienced before. He felt humiliated, weak, and so, so deeply angry at Demacia; that wasn’t mentioning what he’d like to do to the sadistic bastard of a jailer either. 

Sylas laid against the smooth cell floor, now appreciating how cold it felt against his skin. The coolness of the ground soothed the aching bruises that marred his body, and he exhaled shakily as he relaxed into the ground. 

It simply felt good to be still. 

“I n-never… I never...w-wanted this…” 

Sylas was so exhausted, and his body hurt so badly, that he wasn’t sure he could speak any longer. His throat felt truly shredded. 

“P-please...f-forgive....” 

The girl couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence, self-loathing now obvious in her words. While the mage didn’t know very much about women, what he knew right now, was that he strangely wanted her to come close again. He wanted to reach out and tell [y/n] that what had happened wasn’t her fault….but….would that be entirely honest of the situation? 

Until she knew the truth about him, he knew that they would both continue to suffer together in his cell. 

Demacia had pitted them against each other in such a terrible, specific fashion; it was clear now to Sylas that the girl never wanted to harm him at all, even in the slightest way. 

Her despair was genuine and it made him ache.

As [y/n] cried a short distance from him, Sylas felt the same, strange intrigue about her from before, resurface in his gut; the dormant magic flickered within the girl, almost calling to him like a siren’s song. While his gift was muted by the petricite he was bound with, her essence hinted at magic present that was both old and dark. 

It was powerful magic that she had, and the curiosity ate at him.

The longer he was around [y/n], the more he could tell that she was definitely a mage, just like him. Demacia had blinded the girl from it, and it sickened him. No one could resist the threat of meeting a similar fate, along with the ever-present prejudice towards her own kind.

Regardless of the aching numbness in his hands and fingertips, the freshly sealed wound that still stung his skin, and the crippling fear of driving the guard away forever, Sylas knew he had to tell her now. 

She had to understand. 

“...Not your fault...” he said to her, opening his eyes slowly and turning his head to the side so that he could look at the guard. Dark hair fell into his eyes, still wet from sweating earlier. Sylas’s underlying anger was thick in his voice, regardless of how gently he wished to speak to her.

Her head lifted in disbelief at the sound of his strained voice. 

[Y/n]’s eyes were bloodshot and tears still actively poured down her face. Sylas noticed that she was holding her breath unconsciously as she waited for him to speak again. 

“This…,” he nodded downwards to what would be eventually a scar on his chest; the wound had cauterized into an ugly, black and brown cross, and he grimaced before continuing, “...THIS... is of Demacia’s hand, not your own...”. 

It hurt to speak, but he didn’t care. The look on the girl’s face showed that she was already somewhat receptive to his words.

[Y/n] stared back at him with a look of sheer remorse. He hadn’t seen this expression pointed in his direction before, other than from her, and it made him feel rather strange. 

While he tried to mitigate the physical pain that was preventing him from finding his words, she spoke for him. Sylas’s blue eyes met her [e/c] ones once again.

“I-I’m the one that…”, the guard trailed off, her eyes drifting back to her bloodstained hands.  
She truly saw what had occurred as her fault. [Y/n] was back to staring at the now blackened blood on her hands as she cried.

Sylas felt a pang of frustration. He understood why she was struggling to see the true perpetrator of the events, and it only made him angrier. He had once felt the same way when he was a young boy.

Taking a deep breath, Sylas closed his eyes and wondered if he could raise himself back onto his knees. Maybe if he could show her that he could still function, she would stop crying so hard and actually hear his words. He began to concentrate again, ignoring the pain in his body the best he could, focusing on steeling himself from the overwhelming sensation that covered him. 

With a ring of metal against stone, Sylas attempted to lift himself. He pushed from the floor, his shaking, numb arms making it difficult to lift his mass, knowing that if he moved too fast, his body would give out again. He could feel [Y/n]’s worried eyes upon him as he forced himself to sit up. The thin scab over his wound cracked slightly with the movement, and he groaned despite himself. Regardless of the immense struggle, Sylas continued pushing himself upwards into a sitting position.

“Don’t!” 

Sylas raised an eyebrow, turning to face the girl after managing to get himself into a kneel. He could feel that he was bleeding, but he didn’t care much about appearances anymore; he looked like a mess, but the guard never looked at him differently for it. 

Instead, [y/n] was busy judging and hating herself.

Demacia had entrapped another kind person in its cogs, and he was determined to reach her.

“Please…” she implored him; her expression one of pleading, though she was unable to meet his gaze for long. 

There was a long pause between them, but he watched her intently, waiting for the words she was obviously still mulling over. After gnawing on her lip, the guard finally broke her silence.

“Please let me help you.”[y/n] whispered, almost as if she was offended by her own suggestion.

“...if...you don’t…already hate me for what I’ve done...” she whispered, still afraid to make eye contact with him after what had occurred. As she spoke to him, the guard retracted her arms into her armor, now searching around in her undershirt for something.

Sylas looked at her inquisitively. 

What the fuck was she doing?

He felt the start of a smirk on his lips as the guard awkwardly produced two small objects from her armor. She had been brave enough to bring him something, and he felt his anger from earlier begin to dull.

She cared about him. [y/n] really, genuinely cared for his well being, so much so, that she had been willing to break the law to just make him more comfortable.

It was the first time since he was a little boy that someone had brought him a gift.

The young woman held two small items in her still shaking hands; one he knew to be a small book, the other...he did not recognize. It appeared to be something edible, as it smelled wonderful and was covered in a thin, lavender cheese-cloth. Sylas raised his eyebrows again, his smirk growing despite the pain from his split lip. 

She was an interesting girl indeed.

“I...I feel terrible this is all I can do...But...it might make you feel better.” she spoke apologetically to him.

Sylas took a deep breath before speaking; every word made his throat feel as if someone had taken a dull blade and scraped it. Despite the obvious pain and how emotionally drained he was, he still wanted to talk with the girl.

“Is that...food...?” he questioned in disbelief, nodding slightly at the small mystery she had in her hand. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten something other than scraps or the occasional rat Fawkes provided. He felt his mouth wetten at the thought of eating something decent again.

[Y/n]’s eyes softened, looking at him like she could start crying all over. Before any more tears fell, Sylas interrupted. 

“Please don’t cry anymore Dove...,” he spoke to her gently, trying to implore the girl to come closer, “...I don't blame you for any of this.”

[Y/n] stared at Sylas for a moment before she shakily rose to her feet, wincing at her hands. As she stood, she unhooked her canteen and looked at it contemplatively, frowning before returning his ever-observant gaze. 

She began to wipe the blackened blood off her hands and onto her armored pant legs.

“Are you thirsty?” she questioned, the exhaustion from today’s events starting to become clear in her voice. She stepped towards him, her pace slow, though this time, she did not watch as carefully as she approached.

Sylas felt a strange warmth in his chest as he realized the girl would rather be uncomfortable than to deny him of water; he could feel his smirk melt into a small smile. 

The guard lowered herself to her knees, mirroring his position; he absolutely towered over her. Uncapping her canteen, she offered it to him shyly. Sylas took it from her, feeling the warmth in his chest grow when his fingers accidentally grazed her skin. 

He truly couldn’t remember the last time he was this intimate with anyone, and the feeling was strange, yet comforting to him. Raising the bottle to his lips, he took in a large swig, relishing in how good it made his mouth and throat feel. Not wanting to get the girl in trouble again, Sylas handed the canteen back to her, feeling his stubble slightly wet on his chin.

“...Don’t want to get you in trouble...” he cautioned, his voice full of remorse as he handed it back to her. He could have easily drunk the entire thing in a single sip. The girl took it from him gingerly, hooking it back onto her belt. She then offered him the small, cloth wrapped object. 

Sylas eyed it suspiciously, unsure of what it was. 

“It’s...It’s an oatmeal bar. I pick them up at a bakery sometimes. It’s kinda sweet, but I thought…..I thought you’d like something to eat.” 

She was finally smiling at him again, albeit somewhat traumatized from what she had done earlier. She partially unfolded the cloth from around the baked treat and offered it to him. 

Sylas looked at the pastry for another second before taking it from her. It felt light in his hands, and he could immediately smell an aroma of raisins and brown sugar. His mouth watered. 

“Maybe try a small piece first...I don’t want you to hurt your stomach...” the guard warned him, her hands still tight on the small book in her lap. 

Resisting the urge to wolf the entire thing down, Sylas broke half of the bar off, the crisp oats flaking into his hands and releasing more of the pleasant smell. He wasn’t entirely sure what kind of food this was supposed to be, as poor boys from Dregbourne didn’t eat pastries, and it...dare say, excited him to try something so new and strange. Studying it for a moment, Sylas slowly brought half of the bar to his lips and took a small bite.

Something about how the oatmeal tasted made his eyes threaten tears, but he fought them back with little effort. The taste of sugar and honey overwhelmed him, and he couldn’t help but close his eyes as he savored each bite. It was baked to perfection, and the small raisins embedded in the bar tasted fresh. 

The bar was like the outside world, and he wanted more of it. 

Finishing the small piece, he opened his eyes and found himself staring at the guard’s pink cheeks, feeling much calmer now. 

“...Is it alright…?” [y/n] questioned him rather sheepishly. 

Trying to make the treat last as long as possible, Sylas broke another small piece off and quickly popped it into his mouth before answering. 

“It’s incredible,” he responded instantaneously, despite still being between chews.  
“I’ve never had anything like it.” 

A wide smile spread across the girl’s tired face before her eyes left his own. 

[Y/n] was proud of herself, and the strange warmth from earlier burned brighter.

That was the look he had been waiting to see all day, and it calmed him.

Sylas couldn’t resist half-smiling himself as he wolfed down the rest of the treat. Offering water had been one thing, but sneaking in contraband for him was an entirely different gesture. He had already felt curious about her, and now Sylas knew that she was equally curious about him.

With little reservations left, Sylas watched the girl nervously fiddle with the tiny book in her hands. He wondered what could possibly be written in something so small.

“...I have a question...” she spoke gently to him, meeting his gaze once again. She still looked sad, but she did seem to be feeling somewhat better after having seen him eat something.

Sylas already knew what she was going to ask, but he let her continue anyways.

“...but I want to hear the answer from the person it concerns.” she finished, hesitant to provide the aforementioned question. 

Though his shoulders and arms ache terribly, he managed to lift his right cuff and place it lightly on her ever-fidgeting hand, stopping her nervous movement.

“I know what you mean to ask...and it's alright. I’ll tell you whatever you’d like to know.” he assured her, removing his hand after he finished speaking, feeling unsure of himself. It felt very strange touching another person, but….not terrible. Dare he say...it felt rather nice.

“Why did they lock you away like this?”

The question stung, and he winced slightly despite himself being prepared, eyebrows furrowing in thought. 

Why indeed was he locked away...

Sylas felt his anger slowly climbing back to the surface, but he restrained himself.  
This moment was truly the crux of their strange friendship; his answer to the girl was crucial to his escape, but he refused to lie to [y/n] either. He knew he had no energy for lies in his current state anyways.

Sylas frowned as he wondered how one should begin such a miserable story. 

“...I suppose it started when I was a boy. I’ve never truly been free since the day they discovered I was a mage.” he began thoughtfully, memories beginning to seep into the front of his mind. It was painful thinking about it every time. 

“Once they knew what I was capable of, I wasn’t given a choice. The Mage Seekers came and took me from my parents with little resistance from anyone, other than my mother.” He could feel [y/n]’s gaze on him as he spoke now. 

Sylas always wondered if his parents ever thought of him, but he shook the question off to keep his focus.

“I was…gifted...with something called Arcane Sight. Do you...know what that is [Y/n]?” he asked the guard softly, meeting her saddened gaze. She shook her head promptly in response, hanging on to each of his words. 

Sylas took a deep breath. His throat hurt terribly, and it was making his voice get progressively rougher the more he spoke. 

“I can see magic, no matter it’s form or shape. In my boyhood, I was the perfect tool for discovering mages in hiding.” he confessed to her, bitterness dripping from every word he spoke. Sylas still felt the agonizing twinge of shame every time he recounted those he had forced out of hiding and into unrelenting suffering. 

The girl seemed lost for words until she spoke suddenly.

“That's disgusting.”

Sylas looked at the guard with a look of shock in his eyes. 

Gods above he just ruined everything hadn’t h--

“...Y-you...were just a boy...” she stammered in disbelief, her eyes a mixture of confusion and sadness, “...how could they make you do that to your own people…?”

He felt an overwhelming urge to reach out and touch her hand again. 

A former soldier was beginning to understand the truth of Demacia on her own accord, and it was something Sylas never dreamed would be possible. 

Sylas gritted his teeth as he noticed her [e/c] eyes were already glassy. 

He hadn’t even told her his worst sin of all.

Fighting the strange anxiety that fluttered in his ribs, he forced himself to continue explaining his incarceration. 

“Demacia does not care for everyone, Little Dove. Especially those who are different.” he answered, haunted by the information he knew was coming. He paused for a moment, his blue eyes leaving her own in guilt.

“...I loved my job for a time…” he drifted, closing his eyes as he remembered the beauty he had seen, “...Boys from Dregbourne don’t... ah...usually get to see mountains or ride horses. I saw...many wondrous things traveling with the Seekers.” 

His stomach knotted as he remembered the girl. The memory of the event always made a cold sweat rise on the back of his neck.

“Sylas…?” the guard prompted, rousing him from the memory of bright light and the smell of burning skin. 

He hadn't realized his hands were shaking, causing the golden chains to rattle slightly. His jaw was practically wired shut. 

“You don't have to tell me if it's painful…”

A hand.

A warm hand was in his again.

This time he opened his own and squeezed it gently as he found his words.

“There was a horrible accident,” he breathed, remembering the moment he opened the barn door and saw the little girl. 

“A man had hidden his daughter in the barn to protect her from us. She had to be only seven.”

He was sweating again, but he forced himself to continue.

“She came out when the Mage Seeker started beating her father outside of the barn.” 

The girl drew in a quiet gasp. 

“I tried to stop him. I tried to protect her. But instead I learned that not only can I see magic, but I can take it as well.” Sylas whispered, feeling the weight of his crime on his shoulders. 

He felt himself grip the girl’s soft hand as he explained his sin.

“I brushed her skin on accident. The magic was so powerful, I couldn't breathe nor control it. I couldn't see anything. Couldn't feel my hand other than this burning…,” he clutched her hand hard, unaware of how tight he was gripping now,”...It was such a strong spell, that the skin on my hands and arms blistered the moment it entered my body…”

The silence in the room hinted at held breath.

 

“I killed everyone.” his voice broke on the last word.

There was a long pause.

Sylas could not bring himself to look her in the eyes. The smell of burning skin had filled him again, and he felt paralyzed by the memory playing out over and over in his mind’s eye.

He always looked for a way he could have stopped it, but Sylas never found anything. 

 

 

 

“Not your fault.”

......What?

Sylas looked at her now, his blue eyes wide with confusion. 

“Demacia’s hand, not your own.”

Her hand squeezed his gently.

“You tried to do the right thing Sylas. None of that was your fault...” 

She was crying again. 

“You were just a little boy...What were you supposed to do?” 

Sylas gritted his teeth. He focused on her small hand in his, her knuckles starting to purple from how hard he had squeezed her.

Before he could rip his hand away in guilt at what he had done, [y/n]’s other small hand laid gently on top of his massive one. 

“I believe you didn't mean to hurt those people.” 

His eyes drifted back to hers.

She smiled at him warmly. 

“...Do you understand now…?” he prompted, still only half-hearing the world around him as it came back into focus. 

The guard nodded before speaking to her answer. 

“...I think what I understand is that I need to get you out of here...” the girl exhaled. 

He stared in disbelief and wonder for a moment before sighing, looking at her with a small smile. 

“You really are my Dove.” he chuckled, finally feeling the ground solid beneath him and his hearing clear of the strange ringing those memories always brought. 

He rubbed a thumb over the girl’s hand, testing if the feeling was too much. 

Sylas decided that it was indeed, a rather nice feeling. [Y/n] squeezed his hand back tenderly.

“If I read, do you think you could try to rest..? I know it's probably hard, but...you really need to sleep before I leave…” she met his eyes rather confidently now, and it surprised him in a pleasant way. 

Why fate had chosen him, he did not know. 

Maybe Morgana had heard his anguish…?

He met her eyes easily, releasing her hand with a somewhat sheepish look. Her hand was definitely bruised, though he knew it could have also been from Fawkes.

“I think I’d rather enjoy that.” he answered honestly, wondering what was in that book. 

[Y/n]’s gentle face smiled as she rose to her feet, quickly stepping behind him. 

“...what are you doing…” he muttered, unable to look at her with his collar spikes. 

“I’m pulling the hair out of your eyes.” 

“...Oh…”

Her fingers ran over his scalp, and he twitched reflexively before relaxing. He winced at how dirty his hair must probably feel; he groaned internally as he remembered his shower day would be tomorrow evening. As [y/n]’s fingers graced his temples, he felt the warmth of…something...in his chest burn. 

Why fate had given him someone so kind, he would never know. 

“There! That should feel a bit better.” she rounded on him after she tucked the last of his dark hair out of his eyes. 

The guard knelt back before him, and he looked her over warmly. 

“I appreciate it...Don't think I can lift my arms anymore.” he chuckled airily, eyeing the book she retrieved from the floor.

She looked somewhat embarrassed as she flipped through the pages. 

“...shit.” she muttered, her cheeks dusting a dark pink. 

Sylas raised an eyebrow teasingly. 

“Don't tell me it's poetry.” he rasped, now clearly poking fun at her in a friendly way.

The girl looked at him with feigned annoyance before breaking into quiet laughter. 

“...Oh...it's much worse. It's a children's story.” she groaned softly as she finished her answer, still slightly giggling in her fluster. “It was the smallest thing I could think to bring.” 

Sylas grinned slightly, feeling a wave of exhaustion begin to wash over him. Something about just listening to her speak made him feel at ease. 

“I don't mind. It's been ages since I've listened to anything.” he reassured her, slowly relaxing into his arm and off his knees. He felt very tired.

The guard gently reached towards him, helping him down slowly onto his back. The stone floor was still freezing cold. 

“I’ll bring something more interesting next time...Promise.” she said to him, sitting down next to him with the small book in her hands. 

He stole one last look at [y/n] before he closed his eyes and listened. 

 

 

 

“Things were not easy for the Velveteen rabbit at first…” she began, her voice quiet as she sat beside him. 

He wondered what velveteen was.

A textile probably. 

“He was just a simple toy, and the boy who owned him had many other, more exciting toys to play with…”

Sylas wanted to listen, but he felt his mind drifting into slumber faster than he could stop it.

 

 

“...His only friend was a leather horse, who told him what it meant to be Real…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you for reading once again!
> 
> The children's story mentioned is called the Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams, and it holds a special place in my heart.
> 
> I am currently writing a piece for Sylas in a League of Legends Tarot Collab, so the next chapter may need to wait a bit as I work on this long, detailed work. As soon as the collab is live, I will upload it here for everyone to enjoy! The card I was assigned was Strength...but thats all I can say for now C;
> 
> Thank you all again for your patience, and I cannot wait to show you where this is all going in Chapter 7.
> 
> Have a wonderful week!


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